That's Amore
by The Hazelnut
Summary: Snape tries his hand at matchmaking (with malevolent intentions, I assure you), and the results are ... interesting. I just rated it PG to be safe; I doubt it'll get that bad.
1. Dealings with Potions

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Well, the story is, but the characters are decidedly not.**

**A/N: I was in an insane mood when I came up with this. I was, however, NOT insane enough to believe JKR is really going to put these two together. The story will get more interesting in future chapters if anyone cares to keep reading, but I have a sneaking suspicion that nobody does. Oh well.**

**I'll be writing a lot over the next three weeks because I won't be distracted by e-mails from my two bestest friends, who have gone off to camp without me, owing to circumstances beyond my control. I'm on a feeling-sorry-for-myself kick right now (can you tell?) because I got braces a few days ago and they HURT.**

Harry walked along the corridor, moodily kicking walls, statue pedestals, and once, Mrs. Norris. He didn't care that Filch would probably be standing in front of him bellowing in his face in a minute. All he was thinking about was the injustice that seemed to hit him head-on everywhere he turned these days.

Snape had given him another detention. Normally, Harry would hardly care – giving Harry detentions was Snape's favorite form of entertainment – but this time Snape had gone too far. He had assigned him to clean Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

Well, actually, he had said, "You're to clean that miserable girls' lavatory on the first floor, the one inhabited by that wretched ghost."

But what mattered it how Snape had phrased the order? The point was that he had issued it. Mercifully, he had done so after the rest of the class had left the dungeon, but he had done it just the same.

Of course, thought Harry bitterly, it would be to him that Snape gave probably the most embarrassing detention he had ever assigned in his life. The only bit of consolation he could find was that there would probably be no live girls in the bathroom.

Severus Snape smiled grimly to himself. This might be the best punishment he had ever thought out. Potter had done nothing terrible enough to merit this, Snape admitted to himself. In fact, the only reason he was punishing Potter so maliciously was that Potter's father had made Snape's entire school career miserable, and Potter would just have to live with it.

At least, Potter would have to live with it if Dumbledore didn't interfere. The headmaster did not approve of using humiliation as a punishment, especially when all the offender had done was respond insolently to one of Snape's derisive remarks. But Snape was willing to sacrifice a few minutes of his life to a lecture from Dumbledore, in exchange for the chance to let a relative of James Potter know what it felt like to have someone make an utter fool of him. A teacher needed a bit of fun once in his life.

It would be tricky, though, to make the plan go exactly right.

That afternoon, Snape met Harry outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Potter, you're to clean the toilets, mirrors and sinks, and scrub every centimeter of graffiti off the walls and out of the cubicles," said Snape curtly. "Mr. Filch has left all the necessary cleaning supplies inside. No magic." With that, he opened the door and pointed Harry inside.

Holding the door ajar, Snape stealthily made sure that the boy had his back towards the door, pulled out his wand, pointed it at Harry, and muttered, "_Stupefy_." When he saw Harry hit the floor, he entered the bathroom, closed the door, pulled a small bottle form the pocket of his robes, and poured the contents into Harry's mouth. Then he put the bottle back into his pocket and walked out of the bathroom, pointing his wand back in before he closed the door and whispering, "_Ennervate_."

Harry woke up to find himself on the floor in Myrtle's bathroom.

What on earth was he doing on the floor? The last thing he remembered was Snape directing him into the bathroom ...

Snape.

The git had Stunned him. Why, Harry had no idea. Snape had much more effective ways of torturing him than knocking him out and then immediately waking him up again.

Perhaps, thought Harry, Snape had done something to him while he had been Stunned. He didn't feel any different, however, and it seemed best just to get on with his detention, rather than worry about the deeds of a sinister Potions teacher.

Remembering his instructions, he got up and picked up the rag and the bottle of Mrs. Skower's Magical Mess Remover that Filch had left on the floor among a pile of other equipment for cleaning a neglected lavatory. He then got to work scrubbing the long, grimy mirror that spanned one wall, with a row of dirty sinks below it.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice, which sounded not defensive but strangely coquettish, came from behind Harry. He turned to see a silvery, semi-transparent, chronically morose girl floating in midair. He had met her before, but only now was he struck by the beauty of her plump form, the ghostly shimmer of her skin, the eternal tragedy in her eyes behind her thick glasses.

Oh, no.

He was falling in love with Moaning Myrtle.

How could this have happened? He had never felt even the slightest regard for Myrtle, and now he was in love with her. Maybe ...

Of course.

That _git_.

Harry knew now why Snape had Stunned him. It had been to give him a Love Potion.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" said Myrtle in an injured tone. "I know I'm ugly; you don't really need to rub it in. But of course, nobody cares about _my_ feelings. Everyone hates me. It was this way even while I was alive. Once Olive Hornby told me ..."

"Of course I don't hate you," said Harry hastily. Much as he adored Myrtle, he really didn't want to listen to one of her long stories about her old arch-enemy, Olive Hornby.

The potion was still seeping through his body. His feeling for Myrtle was growing ever stronger. He wanted to hear her whispering sweet nothings into his ear, and feel her icy silver tears, with which she was never exactly stingy, on his face. Even her being dead enchanted him: she belonged to another world even while she continued to exist in this one.

But he had to compose himself. He knew she secretly fancied him (sort of, a little), but she would never accept his heart if he wore it on his sleeve, at least not at first. He would have to limit himself to innocent flirtation at this stage of the game.

**A/N #2: So, what did you think? I've never tried writing romance before, so be nice.**


	2. Fatal Errors

**Disclaimer: Me, the owner of Harry Potter? Ha. I wish.**

**A/N: Well, hip hip hooray. It's chapter 2. I've edited it a gazillion times and I'm still not completely satisfied. But you didn't really need to know that. Anyway, I've been working on it forever, so if you're mad that I haven't updated sooner, you now know that I have NOT been neglecting my beloved fanfic.**

**Enjoy, everyone. And don't forget to review.**

Harry reported back to Snape after he had finished cleaning the bathroom, and to his surprise, the room's state met with Snape's satisfaction. Then again, Harry would have been furious if it hadn't, since he had spent three hours scrubbing the bathroom and trying to resist the urge to throw himself passionately at Myrtle's translucent form.

"You may go, Potter," said Snape. "But allow me to warn you that if you ever again call me a 'sadistic bat' in my presence, the consequences will be rather more severe than they were this time."

If that's possible, thought Snape with glee as he swept off down the corridor.

Harry was thinking the same thing as he ducked back into Myrtle's bathroom and muttered "sadistic bat" under his breath.

Myrtle was still sitting in her stall, wailing piteously, as she had been for the past three hours, being insulted that Harry had had to ignore her completely while he meticulously planned out how best to approach her.

"What's wrong, Myrtle?" said Harry in the closest thing to an innocent voice that he could muster.

But, as Harry realized he should have anticipated, directing a question at Myrtle in her present state turned out to be a mistake.

"Oh, what do you care?" Myrtle managed to say through her tears. "You haven't been ignored and neglected for fifty years. I suppose it's nothing to you if someone spends three hours in the same room with you and hardly even looks at you the whole time."

"I just—"

"But I should've known no one thinks I'm worth talking to. After all, what would someone like me have to say after living in a toilet for decades and decades?"

Harry was praying that he would succeed in raising Myrtle's self-esteem enough to get her to be reasonably social. He was longing to have a meaningful conversation with his dearest Myrtle, and furthermore, to see her eyes alight with happiness instead of filled with tears.

"Oh, Myrtle," he said, feigning exasperation. "You don't really believe I feel that way, do you?"

"Why wouldn't you?" yelled Myrtle. "Everyone else does, in case you hadn't noticed! Not that I expect anyone to notice anything about me! Nobody likes me; nobody cares ..."

"Of course I care about you, Myrtle," said Harry. He meant to elaborate on that statement, but Myrtle didn't give him a chance.

"Oh, making fun of me, are you?" she shouted. "You'd think a live person like you could let a poor ghost alone and not come into her bathroom just to torment her, but no! You have to spend all your time trying to make me miserable, and you're doing a pretty good job of it!"

"Myrtle, I—"

"Just go away!" she screamed. "No one has any respect for the dead anymore! Everyone goes around insulting them just because they're there! You're just another one of those people who think it's funny to upset dead people! If you knew what it's like—oh, never mind, just get out of here!"

Harry knew he wasn't going to make any more progress. He slipped out of the bathroom and ran as fast as he could back to Gryffindor Tower, his ears ringing. Ignoring Ron and Hermione's inquiries as to what was wrong, he tore through the common room, up the spiral staircase, and into his dormitory. He sank down onto his bed and closed the curtains.

He knew he had suffered worse than this, but somehow it didn't seem possible that there was any pain worse than that which he felt now. That creature of light, that beautiful, melancholy specter, was angry at him. Why hadn't he realized how lucky he had been at the beginning of his detention when she had been in a good mood, almost ready to flirt with him? But now his beloved, his one and only, was furious at him, and life was no longer worth living.

He felt a tear slide down his cheek and was immediately annoyed at himself. It was so stupid, to be crying over some ghost. Then again, Myrtle was so much more than _some ghost_ ...

Suddenly Harry remembered who was responsible for his misery.

His Potions professor had made him fall in love with a ghost who lived in a bathroom.

Harry didn't think he had ever hated Snape so much.

The next day after Potions, against his better judgment, Harry stepped up to Snape's desk, hoping that the noise of everyone packing up their things and jostling their way out of the dungeon would keep everyone else from hearing what he was about to say.

"Yes, Potter?" said Snape coldly, looking up from the papers he was grading.

"Professor," said Harry in a meaningful tone, "you wouldn't by any chance know of an antidote to Love Potions, would you?"

"Am I to understand, Potter," said Snape, sneering, "that you, perhaps the least adept potions-maker I have ever seen, have been messing about with Love Potions?"

Harry stared at him incredulously.

"No," he said finally, "but in case you'd forgotten, you just made me fall in love with a GHOST WHO LIVES IN A GIRLS' TOILET."

He knew as soon as he'd said it that it had been a mistake.

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter," said Snape, and Harry could tell he was trying not to laugh. It was decidedly odd, seeing any trace of a sense of humor on Snape's face. "I do not have time to meddle in my students' affairs of the heart, and I certainly wouldn't waste time over yours."

It was true, thought Snape. He had involved himself in Potter's love life, but it had definitely not been a waste of time. And he looked over Potter's shoulder at someone standing in the doorway of the classroom.

Harry turned to see what Snape was looking at, and his insides turned cold with horror.

Draco Malfoy was turning and walking briskly out of sight.


	3. Rubbish?

**Disclaimer: I can't even _afford_ the rights to Harry Potter.**

"No way. You've got to be kidding."

"It's true. Malfoy heard the whole thing."

"But _Moaning Myrtle?_ Come off it."

"Well, stranger things have happened."

Several days after Malfoy had heard Harry confront Snape about the Love Potion, the rumor had spread throughout the entire student body. People were forever coming up to Harry, asking if the story was true, suggesting ridiculous remedies, and often, merely staring at him, unable to voice whatever questions were in their minds. Eventually, as Harry had known it would, the tale reached Ron and Hermione.

They pulled him over to three armchairs by the fire in Gryffindor's common room. Hermione was at her most businesslike, fixing Harry with a stare that, as usual, made her look strikingly like Professor McGonagall.

"Harry," she said, "what on earth is this rubbish about Moaning Myrtle?"

It would have been so easy to lie. It would have been so easy just to say that Malfoy had made up the story to humiliate Harry.

Yet Harry knew, deep down, that Hermione would never believe that. Harry realized that Hermione knew that Malfoy would never make up something so ridiculous. What Malfoy would do, on the other hand, was exaggerate any story that had the slightest potential to embarrass Harry. And that, Harry realized, was what Hermione thought Malfoy had done. Now he had to tell her that every word Malfoy had said was true.

"Er ... I ... Sna—um," he said hoarsely, still mustering up the courage to say it.

"What?" said Hermione impatiently.

Harry could see she wasn't going to rest until she knew. Abandoning all hope of telling her gradually, he began to speak as fast as he could.

"During my detention Monday, Snape Stunned me and gave me a Love Potion. He forced me to, um, fall in love with Moaning Myrtle."

Ron and Hermione stared at him blankly.

"You're not serious, are you, Harry?" said Hermione.

Harry wasn't sure what to say. He was thinking about denying the truth of what Malfoy was telling everyone. But he knew that even if he did manage to convince Ron and Hermione that it was all a lie, reversing his condition would be easier with Hermione's help.

"I wish I weren't," he said finally. "Of course Malfoy would have to be the first one to find out about it."

Ron was still looking at Harry nervously, as though he were dangerous. Harry was once again struck with the embarrassment of having to admit to being in love with a ghost, but at least now he could ask Ron and Hermione for help.

"What, er, do you think I should do?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"You'd better go to Madam Pomfrey," said Hermione. "She might know what to do, but don't count on it."

Harry ran into the hospital wing to find Madam Pomfrey bent over one of the infirmary's beds, all of which were occupied by sneezing, shivering people.

"As you can see, Potter, I'm rather busy," said Madam Pomfrey, straightening up. "What exactly is your trouble? Have you been doing something risky again?"

"No, I, well," said Harry, who even now was finding his story difficult to tell. Lowering his voice, he continued, "Sn—somebody's given me a Love Potion."

"Goodness, Potter," said Madam Pomfrey. "How on earth did you let that happen? No, don't tell me, I don't want to know. As for an antidote, you'll have to wait several weeks. I won't have time to start brewing again until next week, and the antidote you need takes another week to make. Keep quiet about your, er, condition, because as long as I can cure you before any of the other staff find out, I'm not required to tell anyone."

Without reflecting on the possibility of a teacher's hearing about the Love Potion from a student, Harry thanked Madam Pomfrey and bolted from the infirmary.

"Well, that's good," said Hermione when Harry told her and Ron. "Now all you have to do is wait."

"_All_ he has to do?" said Ron, staring at Hermione. "Do you realize Snape and Malfoy could tell anyone about this? All Snape would have to do is go to McGonagall and tell her Harry'd been making Love Potions, and he'd be in big trouble."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry muttered. "New perspectives are always welcome."

Harry slipped back into Myrtle's bathroom during break the next day. If he had to suffer the humiliation of everyone knowing he was in love with Myrtle, at least he could console himself by being back in Myrtle's good graces. Mustering all his courage, he walked over to her stall.

"Myrtle," he said through the door, "whatever I said that offended you, I'm sorry. I actually care about you, you know."

"Why shouldn't you?" she said sulkily.

"No, that's not what I—er—"

"Because if you're going to keep making fun of me, you can just go away and do it somewhere else where I can't hear you."

"But, Myrtle, I really—oh, come on, everyone's making fun of me for liking you! Can't you just—"

"Oh, you really know how to make someone's day, don't you?" Myrtle yelled. "Why don't you go hurt someone else's feelings for a change?"

Realizing the stupidity of what he had said, Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Myrtle beat him to it.

"You'll pay for this, I warn you! Get out of here or I'll—"

For the second time since Snape had given Harry the Love Potion, Harry left the room before Myrtle had finished speaking.

As Harry was making his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning, a strange sensation overtook Harry. It was almost as if he were made of water. Ron and Hermione seemed to notice his puzzled expression, but said nothing.

The feeling persisted all morning. On their way to Herbology, as the three of them passed one of the heaviest-looking suits of armor, Harry heard a familiar cackle.

A/N: This chapter, like the last one, took me ages to write. I've been editing it forever, and I still really don't like it. But tell me what you think (hint hint), as some of you so kindly did on the last chapter and my other story. Fifty points to anyone who reviews.


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